A World Without Christ
by StarXEnoch
Summary: Jesus of Nazareth visits an alternate universe where he is not crucified, but is crowned king of Israel. As he travels outside of Israel's borders, he discovers a world that has never known his influence of Judaism and Christianity. During his meeting with the greatest philosophers of the world, he contemplates how his existence affects the whole of humanity.
1. Leaving the Palace

Chapter One: Leaving the Palace

It is maddening business, creeping through your own homeland like a thief in the night. But the comforters of my diamond-studded palace could not contain me no longer. I had slept in those silken sheets for too many nights. I had gorged on meaty delicacies for too many meals. And my throne! My throne! That tangled mess of tarnished gold—it had finally proved to be an inadequate seat to judge the world from. If ever there were an ill-made king, his crafted crown would have fit my head perfectly. My royal subjects knew me by made names…

 _Savior!_

 _Immortal!_

 _Messiah!_

They only saw my divinity, never my humanity. So when I donned my old seamless white robe, I became unrecognizable to them. I circled around my bedchamber one final time. In the dying firelight I wondered if this was truly the right decision. The tiny orange flames sung out to me…

" _For a Son of Man in your unique position, it is the only choice to make!"_

Those flames were right. I could not disagree. I looked above the fireplace to the weapons at my disposal. So many swords I had to choose from to accompany me on my travels. There was the one by which King Saul had demolished the Amalekites but wrongly spared their King Agag. Then the one by which David had beheaded the giant Goliath after knocking him out with one stone. Then the ceremonial one that King Solomon hung off his belt, even though he lived in a time of peace.

I gripped each one and swung. Their were all grand, but far too heavy and sharp for my taste. None of these would be suitable for my adventure. There was only one word I needed, and it resided in the Holy Temple. As the King of Yisrael I had my own private passageway. I opened the stone door behind my bed and walked down the busty hall. There were no torches on the walls, but I knew every curve and dip perfectly. It was only a short walk to the end.

As I walked I thought about my reasons for abandoning my throne. Yisrael's enemies were all crucified long ago. For the past three hundred years Yisrael had enjoyed a state of unparalleled, unbroken peace. All that was left for this immortal soul to do was sit on my throne, judge of a few cases, participate in Temple worship, and eat fine food.

There are many words that might have described my pain, but I could think of none of them. Boredom was not be the right word. Boredom alludes to the idea of fearlessness and neutrality. I had plenty to be afraid of. Beyond the veil of my well-crafted dream, a harsh reality awaited me. So no, I was not bored.

Loneliness might be a bit more accurate, though loneliness did not play a major role in my decision. After ruling Yisrael for three hundred years, I had seen men rise and fall like wheat. Everyone I had known in my generation had died within the first fifty years of my reign. But I had kept most of these at arms' length, so their absence was not too much of a burden. There were a few I missed, but I knew the place where their souls dwelt. It was not a particularly pleasant place, but it was not an evil place either. They were not feeling any pain. In fact, they were hardly feeling anything at all.

Curiosity might be a strong choice of wording. I was an immortal soul in a mortal body, and I had plenty to wonder at. So places on earth I had not explored. So many ideas I had left unturned. There were so many journeys I had not yet taken. With, every hour I stayed on my throne, the greater chance I had of remaining there forever. My wretched throne would be cemented firmly cemented in reality. I did not know what would happen to me then, but I did not want to find out through experience.

I left no notice. No leave of absence. No official declaration of an heir. Trying any of these things would only result in public outcry and my people forcing me to stay. My royal guard would turn on me, making sure I did not escape. There would be no malice in any of this, of course. It would all be done in love and devotion. But the curse of being the most loved man in the world is that sometimes people can smother you to death while insisting that you remain their king.


	2. Escaping Yisrael

Chapter Two: Escaping Yisrael

I was not the least bit tired, and as long as I was in the Motherland I never would. The treasure on my back was weightless, the way my arms and legs were. As long as I did not abuse my treasure or sleep on it funny, it would effortlessly fit into me. And I dare not do these things. I would die before abusing my treasure.

 _Die_. I just had to think the wretched word. _Die._ Right in there with _torture, blood,_ and _destiny._ There were just some words that were evil to my ear. Maybe because they haunted me like a ghost. Definitely because I ran from them. But I had more pressing things to worry about than them, such as the length of the Motherland.

Yisrael is a tiny state, but it is nicely crammed, and there is hardly any room between one holy site and the next. Around it are the northern border of Syria, the eastern and southern border of Syria, the western shores of the Dead Sea, and the Mediterranean Sea. Riddled with ruins dated five hundred years before my birth, even the greatest cynic can find something to marvel at. I walked through Yerushalayim, which was long ago an international city before we sealed Yisrael off. The heart of Yerushalayim is of course the Temple, which was merely a smaller version of the first Temple built there by King Solomon's stone masons. But God had that one destroyed when Yisrael had fallen into idolatry.

Exiting Yerushalayim was the most frightening part of my journey. The fear did not come from the unknown—that was to come later. No, the fear came from the recognition of the smothering loneliness. I had no companions, no honor guard, no disciples. There was no outer force guiding me. No inner spirit acting as my compass. All men have a source of inspiration they looked to for direction. I have always had one. It would be inaccurate to say that mine was unavailable to me. Rather, I was unavailable to the Compass.

But the Compass still watched over me, as did His many servants. High in the sky, beyond the orange harvest moon, were the Hunter, the Bear, the Crooked Serpent, and the Seven Sisters. They had one piece of advice for me:

 _"Delusions last only as long as we let them."_

I knew there was no falsehood within them, for it was the Compass who had fastened their bands. I lifted my hand partially in agreement, partially to temporarily quiet them. The sun arose, slowly but surly, and the stars in the sky disappeared. I narrowed my eyes on the space forming in front of me.

The east of Yerushalayim is a barren wasteland, where only shepherds and mystics makes their homes. This desert is notable for two things: The great fortress Masada and the Dead Sea—here was buried the ashy ruminants of two cities: Sodom and Gomorrah. The Lord does not tolerate debauchery. Nor does He suffer those who mock His name. Had Sodom and Gomorrah known that, they might have repented before their fiery damnation.

This was not part of my journey, but it was part of my history. I had used Sodom and Gomorrah as examples in my sermons, warning unrepentant villages that on the Day of Judgment Sodom and Gomorrah would find their fates more tolerable, for Sodom and Gomorrah had been offed no rabbi, no savior, no second chance.

As for Masada, I had stood on its peak, fully armored, watched the first wave of Romans charge uphill. This had been after I had initially killed the Romans who had been stationed in Judea. What I fought on Masada was the retaliation. The ill-fated, easily desolated retaliation. To avoid a second and third wave on the Motherland's soil I sailed my army to Rome. My ragtag army did battle on the sea, on the shore, on the seven hills…

But this was a dream I did not wish to have at this moment.

North of Yerushalayim is the Golan Heights, a many layered display of absolute greenery ranging over seven hundred miles—a haven for multicolored, vibrant wildlife. The mountains roll into each other like children in play. Here the shepherds lay with their sheep, almost tempted to graze with them.

Had I been in the mood to zigzag around, I probably could have found a safe path. But I was in mood to go anywhere but forward. I climbed down tall ledges, slid down slanted cliffs, and leapt across impossible lengths. I was in the rough terrain that the shepherds generally avoided. No one raised an eye at me. No one asked me any questions. I was free to act as impossibly as I pleased.

The sun reached its full height—directly above my head. Beads of sweat dripped down my face as if they were tears. I had to stop every couple of minutes to wipe it out of my eyes. The only shield I had against the sun was my _kippah—_ a small piece of circular fabric worn only for ceremonial reasons. Mine was blue with a golden menorah knitted in its center.

Like most ornaments, the kippah had developed from a much more practical tradition. I produced a long strip of white cotton, which I wrapped around the top of my head several times. Wrapping the turban was something every sematic child mastered before puberty. Without even needing a mirror, I knew how to get it to cover the top of my head evenly, and how to tighten it in the back. With a suitable cover between me and the sun, I went on.

Beyond the Golan Heights is the northern region of Yisrael. Here is the Lake of Gennesaret, which has also been called the Sea of Galilee. Surrounding it are the small country villages that any nation has. These villages were where I spent most of my time during my ministry—back in the former days.

So many memories here—all of them real, all of them tangible. Here my tears fell like beads of sweat. There was no cover I could build to shield myself from this heat. I had preformed miracles and given teachings in each of these villages. Each one now had ten thousand suns, all beaming at me. Beaming, blazing, boasting of my works. All I could do was tread forward and endure.

I passed the shepherds, the reapers, the weavers, the potters, the fishermen. News of my departure had not reached them. They went about their business with the heads held low. I did not stop to glance at their faces. In fact, I sped up. I did not want to look at them. Their souls were completely unfulfilled, and they hardly realized it. Only I knew. I kept my head down on focused on the terrain. No one looked up at me. No one said a word.

Far beyond the Lake of Gennesaret is the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. It stands the remains of Caesarea, the great center of commerce built by King Herodes the Great. In the former days, before I had begun my ministry, I accompanied Yospeh here—the man who raised me. He and I were humble handymen. Caesarea was our greatest source of income.

These were happy memories. Even though they still made me cry, they did not bring me any pain. Life was simple then. Carving objects of stone and wood. Selling them to Jews and gentiles alike. Trading them for fish and eggs. This was back when my body was young. The burden of kingship had not yet fallen on my shoulders. I kept my mind on these thoughts, and they sustained me.

I walked nonstop for many days. Day turned into night and night turned into day. I did not care for either. I never turned to look, but I sensed a wave of darkness crashing behind me. It was silent and quiet. This was because it did not come on account of what I was thinking about, but rather, on account of what I was leaving behind. It was a cloud of nothingness. Once I left the State of Yisrael, Yisrael would be completely swallowed up by it. But beyond the State of Yisrael, a new world was opening up.

Over the hills, the giant gray mass came into view. It was just a blur at first. A streak of jagged metal against the blue sky. It took me two days to reach it. When I did, it towered so high it disappeared into the clouds. I traced my fingers along the cold steel, looking for the secret knob. This wall was not built to keep any Jew in. Indeed, they needed no wall for that! They would live and die here willingly! But this wall was built to keep all the rest of humanity out. And its existence made a pretty good excuse for me not to seek conquest on the rest of the world.

The great steel wall of Yisrael! My own builders swore it was impenetrable. No way in, no way out. But I had drawn up the blueprints myself and alone knew the way out. Now it would serve its use. I soon found the secret knob. I curled my hands around it and did the unthinkable. I stepped through the hidden doorway and found myself standing on the other side. The door shut behind me. To the mortal eye, there was no trace of my escape.

The cloud of nothingness swallowed up Yisrael in a single gulp. I did not care. Technically speaking, it still existed. Just not to me. I was not worried. I had other things to think about. I was in a foreign land. Everything was alien to me. The ground was different. The air was different. The sky was different.

No doubt about it. I was finally in the lands of the gentiles.


	3. Gentile Lands

Chapter Three: Gentile Lands

 _Gentiles!_

So much was said about them. Most of it slander. Some of it true.

 _Pig-eaters! Murderers! Idolaters! Defilers!_

Many of my people believed they would have no place in the Purified World to Come. Others said that the Gentiles would be our slaves then. Some believed they would accept the Torah and become Saved. A few of the more eccentric rabbis taught that Gentiles were doomed to die and reincarnate until they accepted circumcision and became Jews.

This was all taught _before_ I came to power. The first day I first sat on the throne of David I did away with all these beliefs. As far as I was concerned, the Gentiles were who they were, and we were who we were. As long as they would not bother us, we would not bother them.

This was not the expectation my people had for me. They expected me to conquer the world. But I was tired and ready for a long peaceful reign. I had seen very little of the Gentile lands during my lifetime, but I had seen enough to know I didn't want it.

But that was a long time ago. Now I was here. There was no path to walk on, so I simple walked _forward._

These new people around me did not look much different from me. Jews and Arabs are kindred, after all. These Arabs tilled, wove, hunted, and fished just like the Jews—except for one thing. And that one thing manifested everywhere.

Their coins bore images. Their necklaces bore images. The tattoos on their arms bore images. Statues of stone and wood were placed in the fields, the roadsides, the doorsteps, the lake shores, the tops of wells, and the village centers.

These images were not depictions of mortal men. They were depictions of gods. Some were river goblins. Some were sky spirits. Some were intertwining serpents of knowledge and wisdom. Some were wish granting demons of smokeless fire. Some of these idols had plates of food around them. Some were decorated with rings and dresses. Some had devotees prostrating before them. They varied. Some were small enough to fit in my hand. Some came up to my knees. Some towered over my head. Some were crudely fashioned and some were elegantly carved.

Nobody knew it, but each and every one of these idols was a Serpent of Eden. I had wrestled with many of them personally. They had been driven out of Yisrael long ago, yet here they were enjoying their dominion. One of their favorite dwelling places was the big black hollow stone I past by. The wails coming from inside were so loud I could hear them a mile off. Three hundred and sixty idols lay in there. I had no desire to go inside.

I noticed other things besides the idols. The groves of orange trees, for instance, smelled as delicate as the lemon trees of Yisrael. Moved to hunger, I plucked one from a drooping branch. Its juices danced around in my mouth until I swallowed them down, and even then they danced in my stomach, spreading the aura of Paradise all around me.

The aura of Paradise! I was already filled with it! But the aura of Paradise is invisible. It was always nice to have a physical representation of it.

There were other things I noticed as well. The clay on the potters' wheels. The robes of the weavers. The folk songs of the nomadic tribes. I appreciated these. They were noble works of craft. But my enjoyment was dampened because they were all contaminated with the sin of idolatry. These people sinned in ignorance, but they sinned nonetheless.

The sin of Idolatry! It is a sickness that tarnishes everything Man does.

Then there was the matter of Tribal War. I have left it for last not out of forgetfulness, but for emphasis. Even if I never saw a single battle, it would not have taken me long to realize that something terribly traumatic was running through these lands. Indiscernible carnage littered the desert sands. Shards of iron, brass, and bone brushed against my feet. The wells I passed by were often filled with different bloods.

I saw my first skirmish from a distance. All it looked like was a mob of blurs clashing against another mob of blurs. It lasted about twenty minutes and ended with the survivors of both sides running away. As my journey grew longer, I had ample opportunity to see them up close. I witnessed the gnashing of eyes, the twisting of limbs, and the breaking of spines. Sometimes they fought against each other on open fields, but most of the time they resorted to ambush and pillaging.

Whatever the massacre was like, I saw the death not just of the warriors, but of any children these men might have sired had they lived. This was not just a spilling of blood, but _bloods._ Boundaries were pulled back and forth. Caravans were raided and animals burned. Women were raped and children enslaved. All at the expense of a million hopes and dreams.

I was happy to reach the end.

Beyond these lands were the blue waves of the sea. Having journeyed this far, I realized that if I wanted to continue, I would have to leave the continent. Fortunately, I had some money with me. I happily paid the exuberant fee for my own seat among the merchants. I did not ask where it was going, but was satisfied it was destined onward. I was going even farther away from my subjects than I thought I would. What new, strange people I would be meeting now—I could not say.

Like I said, Jews and Arabs look similar, so I did not have to answer any difficult questions. I sat among the masses. Everyone pleaded to his own deity for safe travel, their wares scattered around them. I kept my head low, countering their prayers with my own.

We were headed to the Isles of Britannia. Fair enough for me. During that nine month voyage I kept to myself. I did not feel guilt for leaving my people. I had done so much for them already. I had given them orders on how to run the kingdom in my absence. The small council of mortals would handle the Affairs of State perfectly, provided they had paid any attention during our early morning briefings.

Oh yes. I knew this day had ben coming for a long, long time.

As I sat in that boat I drifted back to days long past.

I had traveled to Gentile lands before, but not in a long time, and never this far or this long. The first time was when I was barley a week old. I had not even spoken a word yet, and already there were attempts on my life. King Herodes the Great knew the Messiah had been born in the poor town of Bet-Lahm.

During my ministry I made a point to visit the gentile-inhabited areas of Judea. Samarian villages, swine pastures, tombs, and villages. I cast out demons, preformed healings, restored broken lives, and mortified the rulers. I had some of best turn-outs and rejections, especially from the Eternal Adversary—who saw me as invading his territory. He was right. As I told my first disciples, "The Ruler of this world is condemned."

With the closing of my eyes I dreamt of the seven hills of Rome. Those mighty forums were ripped apart by my bare hands. The coliseums were overrun with angry Judeans. The blue flag of Israel hung from each seat. Menorahs and shofars were chiseled into the coliseums, and statues of the Lion of Judah stood in the arenas. These visions were great and terrible, but they became hazy when I blinked. They faded away like mist when I stuck my arm through them.

I opened my eyes and found myself in the rotting, run-down port of Britannia, built in the old Roman style. My journey on the sea was over. I stepped off the boat and treaded forward, and because I did not look back, I knew the boat and port had been absorbed into the cloud of nothingness.

The bleeding sky hung low. The damp blades of grass were bent and brown. The wild stags were as malnourished as the dirt-dressed people. I was moved to tears of pity. Oh, _how_ they tilled the ground with less luck than the children of Cain! Who among them had an inkling of understanding in science, art, or history? Who among them had ridden a ship? Read a book? Debated a point?

No king rallied them. No god united them.

I wondered if I should have included them in my kingdom. They would have been filled with my bread, and they would have drank the water of life. I remembered my armies back home and figured it was not too late to start the invasion.

I could take these lands under my fatherly wing. Not just Britannia, or the territories surrounding Israel, but the whole world! All these people belonged under my loving gaze, not the Serpent's heel. I could make them my subjects so easily. A raise of my hand. A remembrance of my authority. The summoning of my legions!

Then the truth hit me. I was never going back to my diamond-studded palace. I had known this ever since I left it, but now it had time to sink in. I would never return there, or even give it a second thought. Without me, Yerushalayim with its iron wall would cease to exist. And with me in it, this new land would uncover itself from the shadows.

Without map or compass I zigzagged from village to village. The farmers watched me as if I were a squawking peacock. Already they decided I did not belong here. They turned their heads and shut their doors. They offered me nothing, though my stomach grumbled from not having a hot meal in so long.

Here, having come so far from my homeland, I was consumed by weariness. But my journey was still far from complete.

I sated my hunger through meditation techniques.

Long ago, when I was first starting out, I fasted in the wilderness for a litter over a month. I had received preparation from my cousin, who had studied with the monks of the desert. They were crazed lot, believing in separatism and predestination—but they knew how to renounce the sensations of the world. My cousin was all too eager to betray their secrets after immersing me in water.

Today was taking me back to those days. I slept in windy caves. I controlled my beard length with pointed stones. I prayed constantly.

High above, the heavenly hosts were migrating. They were as multicolor stars. Shards of blue, red, gold, and green. They moved in one steady direction. Onward. This too reminded me of my first experience in the wilderness, for after those forty days I was being tempted by demons and caressed by angels. And now I was seeing them again.

Just like old times.

It had been eons since I had been treated to a glimpse beyond the White Veil.

I prayed, _Abba, why are you showing this? Do you want me to follow them?_

The answer was in my legs. I stood up and walked in their direction.

I stumbled, strayed, and had to rediscover the trail many times. I had not walked the path of angels in such a long time. I was a bit out of practice. They led me to a sea-facing cobblestone manor. They hovered over it with their swords and shields thrust forward.

From the edges of the evening they came; dark shadows with gaping mouths and claws. They circled the house from a distance. They could not break through the angels' battalions but got steadily closer. I sprinted to the manor.


	4. The Gentle Philosophers

Chapter Four: The Gentle Philosophers

I did not know why the human guards let me pass by them. At the time I guessed it was because I ran so assuredly it looked like I had official business there. In hindsight I know their souls recognized me.

Three friends chatted quietly at the front door. As with the guards, they did not see the spirits above them. But they certainly saw me. They stopped talking and stared.

The leader was a man covered in the scars of many battles. His unnaturally red beard was in contrast with his black locks. His stance was relaxed, yet his pupils were immersed in anger. He wore a dark brown tunic with gold buttons. A quiver of arrows hung off his back an long curved bow sat in his right hand. His hands and cheeks were smeared with dirt.

The eldest among them was a gray haired lady. Wrinkles weighed down her once-beautiful face. Her arms were covered in faded tattoos. A black shroud covered the body she must have loved to display.

The most foreign among them was an Arab. He bore his perfumed beard and curly mustache with pride. His bright silks did little to hide his bulging stomach. He moved his hands in such a way that showed off his jeweled rings. The thick hairs sticking out of his green turban were not unlike mine.

Even though the Arab and I looked similar, my attire created a barrier between us. Between the blue fringes dangling off the corners of my robe and the blue skullcap pinned to the back of my head, I looked outlandish. I knew from personal experience that if I spoke first I would be more warmly received.

"Shalom," I said cheerily. "I bless you all in the name of Adoni, the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob."

They needed a minute to process my words. This was my first time attempting English and my Galilean accent was very thick.

The lord of the manor asked, "Who are you?"

"A weary and lonely traveller from Israel."

"Impossible!" the old lady snorted in Greek. "No one gets in or out of Israel. The steel wall sees to that!"

I gave laugh to match her snort. "There are always ways for those who know where to look."

She was not amused. "What business would an Israelite have with the outside world, when all his needs are met inside?"

"I felt the call to adventure. Dissatisfied with my lot. Curious to travel Gentile roads."

This was all true, though it was not the whole story. I knew better than to give my name or mention the angels. No need to burden them. Not yet anyway.

"What do you think of our country?" The beautiful young lady asked.

"Wholly depressing," I answered without hesitation. "I could have given that answer anywhere. I've been all over the globe. I just came from the Arabic kingdoms."

The Fat Ottoman sighed dramatically. "Your wisdom disappoints me."

The lord scratched his sideburns. "When was the last time you had a hot meal, Israelite?"

He was considering inviting me to dinner with them, an unusual practice for men like him. But his soul recognized me too.

"Nothing in a month."

"A month! How?"

I shrugged casually. "A few meditation exercises I've learned from my travels."

But there is something else I have not yet mentioned. No matter how I explain it, I cannot convey the power I have over my own body. My body, _and_ my spirit.

This explanation would have to do for now.

"Would you like to break your fast with us?" he asked.

My barren stomach flared up. I glanced up at the angels. They were keeping the shadows at bay with ease. But the sky's corners still darkened with demonic legions.

In my humblest tone I said, "Thank you for your offer. But I cannot eat anything that violates the Mosaic Law."

The old lady moaned. Mustapha lighting jabbed her arm. She stopped. I pretended not to notice.

The lord asked, "Would deer meat, potatoes, fried tomatoes, and red wine be violations?"

My mouth watered. "No, that is good and _Kashrut!"_

 _"Kashrut!"_ the lord repeated.

"Yes. Deer have split hooves and they chew their cud. _Kashrut!"_

He went on. "Kashrut! Kashrut! Kashrut!" He liked the word. It tickled his teeth. "Well, I hope you have enough patience for my venison to cook. I only just shot it a minute ago."

"Believe me, I have all the patience in the world."

"Good. I am sure that by the time we've washed up, our portions will be even more… _kashrut."_

I responded in total dignity. "Yes, I am sure."

He clapped his hands dramatically three times and a young lady in her early thirties descended from the castle steps. Her crimson locks were curled in an intricate style unknown to me. Her lips and nails were painted red. Her curvaceous body was generously tucked into a diaphanous purple gown.

"Yes, milord?" she asked sweetly.

He did not turn to acknowledge her. "She will take you to where you can refresh yourself. "

She curtsied first to him, then to me. I followed her up the steps into the stony hall. Now was time to discover why the angels were defending this place. When I was sure we were out of earshot I hissed, "Why are these three meeting here?"

"They call themselves the Gentle Philosophers. They have met here every Monday for the past three years. There never meet for business or war. The rest of the world can deal with those matters for all they care. What they care about are the secrets few think to discuss: The nature of good and evil, matter, time, the gods themselves!"

She did not slow down as she spoke. On the contrary, she sped up without meaning to.

"You speak of it with passion," I noted.

She stopped dead in her tracks just a moment, then resumed at normal speed. I still was not done gathering information.

"A fun batch to eavesdrop on when they aren't expecting you, I'd wager."

She nodded timidly. "But they have exhausted all their topics. They need something new to explore. You are the answer to an oft-said prayer."

If only she knew...

She also reminded me of something I learned long ago. The battle between Heaven and Hell is internal. It is not fought on meadows of carnage, but among flickering torches such as these. It would seem the Adversary did not approve of their topics of discussion. The Adversary would certainly not be pleased I was here stirring things up.


	5. The Fortress

Chapter Five: The Fortress

I brushed my hand against the granite bricks and found them rough and sharp. They were not smoothed out, or cut to fit in with the others.

"This fortress was built in haste," I said out loud.

She turned to me. "Is something wrong?"

I took my hand off the wall. "Yes. I do not follow anyone without first knowing her name."

Her lips parted to say it, but I _shooshed_ her quiet.

"Wait! I want to say it myself."

I circled around her, pretending to take every quality of hers into consideration.

"Let me see…young lady. Red hair. Two hands. Five fingers on each. Two blue eyes…both staring at me. Ah yes, you are _most likely_ a Shalott. Is it true? Did I get right? Are you one of the Shalotts?"

Shalott crooked her head at me the way you do at a bird flying backwards. "His lordship told you."

I shook my head.

"Then one of the others."

I shook my head again.

"You heard it from somewhere, I'm sure."

"I suppose."

"In any case, you _can_ follow me because you _do_ know my name."

She was not annoyed with me, or even excited. Just mellow, melodic, and steady. "Shall I take your pack for you, Master Judean?"

"No, I'd like to keep it."

"Are you sure? It looks heavy."

"All the more reason for me to keep it on, milady."

Shalott smiled in a way that seemed oddly genuine. In my many years I had met few who smiled in truth. She took a burning torch off the wall and guided me to up a spiral of uneven stairs. We stayed to the right side, with the pillar. She took me to small room with a large wooden basin full of water. I stuck my finger in and found it to be hot. Not searing, but soothing. The rest of the room felt freezing in comparison.

"A heated bath," I said. "I'd almost forgotten what they felt like."

"I will be back soon with a fresh robe."

"No, no," I said with a shake of my hand. "I like this robe. It suits me."

"Then perhaps I should wash it for you."

I looked down to the blue fringes on the corners. As I ran my hand through the intricate knots I saw that they _did_ have brown streaks in them. "Yes, it is time for a cleansing. But be very careful. These fringes are very old and very special—just like me."

"I shall."

She walked out of the room and closed the door. A minute later I cracked it and handed my robe to her. She took it and walked away, and I began my bath. As with all my other immersions, I fell in love with the water. I took the lump of soap from off the side and lathered myself. But underneath the suds and bubbles, my reflection scowled.

"What business have you here? Soaking your body in unfamiliar waves? Preparing to feast with strangers?"

I dove underneath the water and proclaimed, "For me, no waves are unfamiliar, and no man who welcomes me into his house is a stranger!"

Looking up, I did not have one reflection, but many, and they were all relentless. "What business have you here? Trapped in a world filled with lost souls who know not your identity or influence? Tell us! We are so curious to know."

I had no answer to give, so I simply rose from the basin and dried myself. There was soon a soft knock on the door. I cracked it and Shalott's hand came through. "Your robes were more a challenge than I expected. Do you know how long it took me to get all those little knots out of the strings?"

An icy pain seized my throat. I snatched my robe and found the fringes. They were perfectly knotted as they were before. Shalott's laughter echoed through the room. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't resist."

I gave a chuckle of relief and put my robe on. It was warmer, softer, fresher than it had been when it was first presented to me. "Thank you," I said.

"Follow me," she said. For the first time I focused on her words, and realized her accent was different from the lord's, but I could not trace it.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Ireland."

"Ireland? What are you doing here then?"

"I was bought and sold at ten. My father died before I was born, and my mother had eight others. She did not know what to do with us when she barely had the means to raise one."

I nodded, but because she was walking in front she did not see. Her words carried no sadness or anger, merely a matter-of-fact truthfulness.

As we walked down the steps I once again put my hand on the wall. This time I felt hard fabric. "Stop for a minute," I said. "Let me see the torch."

She gave it to me and I waved it above my head. Lining the walls were the most beautiful tapestries I'd ever seen. Their colors were so vibrant. So unreal. It was as if I were staring through illuminated windows.

The one in front of me was a depiction of a lady in a tower throwing a handkerchief down to a knight on horseback. The one to its left was of a horned stallion bowing to a winged girl holding a tulip.

"Where were these bought?" I asked.

"They weren't. I wove them myself."

"You?"

Her eyes sparkled with pride. "It's a gift of mine, to make beautiful things."

I reached my hand out, silently asking for her permission. She nodded, and I felt patterns made up of the lines within the fabric. I traced squares, circles and, squiggles that were invisible to the naked eye.

"How do you?" I asked.

Her eye darted around uneasily. "Are you ordering me to answer you?"

"Why?"

"Because as a slave, I do not get to be a lady in many areas of life. But I'd like to be a lady in this regard…"

"…And like all ladies, you're entitled to keep some secrets."

She beamed.

"But tell me Shalott, which one of these is your personal favorite?"

"You're asking a mother to choose between her children?"

"Yes. They do it all the time."

Shalott took the torch from me. "Follow me."

She took me down a few more stairs and down a crooked hallway. On the left wall was a knight in shinning armor on horseback. His horse was trampling a giant black serpent. The knights lance was stuck in between his eyes. The knight's face was invisible behind his silver helmet. A pink scarf was tied around his right arm. The same scarf that Shalott wore around her neck.

"So he's your champion?" I asked. "What is his name?"

She blushed. "Don't know. I haven't given him one yet."

"If he's your favorite, shouldn't you?"

"I just like the idea of him. I like the idea of a knight noble enough to champion a lowly slave and slay a dragon. But I haven't found a single one among the lord's men. Still, it is nice to dream."

"If such a knight existed, what would you do?"

"I don't know."

She took me to the small feast hall. It was a narrow rectangle adorned with more tapestries, these more grim. The Elderly Lady and the Arab were already there. They sat across from each other and were chatting lightly. They looked up at me and nodded formally. The Ottoman pointed to the far end of the table.

"His lordship requests that you sit at the foot of the table."

I looked back at Shalott, but she was already walking away. There was something about the way she walked—the slow shuffling of her legs—that told me that she wished she could stay with us.

I sat down at the foot of the table. The elderly lady said, "His lordship wanted us to make it clear to you that this is not a sign of disrespect—making you sit at the foot. He wants you to sit where we all can see you, and he considers the foot to be a second head."

I nodded.

"And we must warn you," the Arab said, "Lord Alban will pry at you nonstop. Be prepared to answer a million questions."

"I don't mind," I said. "I've always welcomed questions."

"That's good," the lady said. "Although, Lord Alban might become bored with you if you aren't interesting enough for him. Alban can be quite dangerous when he's bored. If I were you, I would quickly devise some stories that are guaranteed to keep his interest."

"That's what I did when I first met him," the Arab said.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," I said.

"So you say," she said. "But you might find yourself being thrown out before you've even touched you're food." She eyed me up and down. "I've personally never needed to create tall-tales, but I'm no peasant or nomad."

 _Neither am I,_ I thought.

"Make sure you're story is fantastical enough, but also somewhat believable," she said. "Lord Alban will do more than kick you out if he can tell you're lying."

"Perhaps you're travelling the world, looking for you're long-lost love," the Arab suggested. "And she's an exiled princess from a far-off land."

The lady groaned and shook her head. "Too close to home. Alban is still mourning his late wife." She took a minute to think. "Suppose you're on a treasure hunt. Suppose you're looking for some magical object. The Black Cauldron of the goddess Ceridwen, perhaps?"

"I've no intension of granting any honor to your gods," I said, feeling annoyed. "And you forget, I come from the land of Yisrael, which has been cut-off from the rest of the world for centuries. And that's only the most normal thing about me. You think I can't fascinate Alban on my own?"

"Even men from far-off lands can be boring," he said. "Trust me. A little embellishment will not hurt you. Take it from a fellow traveller: Learn to tell a good story, and it will reward you well."

I glared at him angrily. He spoke no more. The lady hissed at him, "Let the vagabond be. If he isn't sophisticated enough to take our advise, it will be he who starves to death, not you."

"Trust me," I said coolly, "Lord Alban will be very intrigued by what I have to say."

"I'm happy to hear that," said a deep voice behind me. I looked around and saw him standing in front of me. His face was washed, with all the sweat wiped off. His hair and beard were nicely combed. His fresh robe was a shade of dark green.

"I love men of confidence," he said cheerfully.

"I must warn you though," I said. "My existence is complicated. I have many secrets. Even if I reveal them to you, they might not make much sense."

"That's quite alright," Alban said. "We all love a good mystery here, right?" He looked to the other two. They nodded obediently. "Besides, we have all night to solve them."


End file.
